


What defines insanity?

by KiwiCutie013



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, mcyt
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Character Study, Child Abuse, Dream SMP Ensemble Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Ghost TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Graphic Violence, Heavy Angst, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Imprisoned Tommy, Insanity, Neglect, Other, Pandora's Vault Prison, Prison Arc, Prison Tommy, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Reincarnation, Self-Harm, Tommy centric, Unsympathetic Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), dream centric, imprisoned Dream, no beta we die like tommy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 00:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30097527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiwiCutie013/pseuds/KiwiCutie013
Summary: “Did you know about this?!” Dream screamed, turning back to Tommy; anger in his bright green eyes.He received no answer.Because there was no way he could receive one.The thing about Dream was that he was perfectly, utterly sane.Or Dream's thoughts while in prison <3
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Sam | Awesamdude, Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dream SMP Ensemble & TommyInnit, TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF) & Death (Character)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 111





	What defines insanity?

**Author's Note:**

> TW: GRAPHIC VIOLENCE 
> 
> :)
> 
> Anyways, enjoy.

The thing about Dream was that he was perfectly, utterly sane. 

No matter the circumstances, Dream always, always, kept perfect, calm composure. 

He was silent and never hesitant with his actions or words and carried himself with the confidence that some people could only dream of. He prided himself on his ability to gain strength and make people think twice about him because they couldn’t help but be cautious about how at peace he was. 

Sure, sometimes things got out of hand. 

But who could honestly blame the smile and laugh that eroded from his mouth as he lit the last bit of TNT over the dusty hole that was L’Manburg? 

He just got excited. 

And was that really a crime? 

All the time, he felt nothing but calm serenity. 

And although it was quite the advantage to his mind and relationships, it was boring and dull and things that others enjoyed just didn’t reciprocate that same effect on him. 

He felt nothing hanging out with friends; talking and laughing. 

But when he stood above those same friends; a powerful position looming above them as every action they took was because he fucking allowed it, well damn. That felt pretty good.

But again, he was perfectly sane. 

He remained sane even when he was imprisoned. 

He remained sane despite Sam’s neglect. 

He remained sane during Tommy’s visits. 

But said sanity came with a price. 

There was a small itch in the back of his mind that made his eyes twitch and made him rethink things and grind his own teeth in the most unnerving way for hours because for some reason he couldn’t fucking stop. 

But it was the only way he could think of to release some of the tension that was building up within him as he spent minute after minute after hour after day surrounded by nothing but obsidian and lava. 

When Sam came into the area up above to toss him dirty stale potatoes or just to make sure he was still there, Dream pushed the itch back; remaining planted against the back wall; gripping it as much as he could until his fingernails splintered because he couldn’t trust himself to just fucking move because that lava wall seemed so fucking appealing right now-

But he didn’t charge for it. 

He gripped his fists at his side and took a deep breath. 

Calm. 

When Tommy came to visit, Dream lets twinges of desperation slide at best, trying to pull Tommy back to his side. 

Of course it hurt to throw the bait and not have Tommy go for it, but he’d manage. 

And when Tommy  _ spoke  _ and  _ whined  _ and  _ taunted  _ him and wouldn’t shut the fucking fuck up for the goddamn life of him, Dream took a deep breath and pushed back that little itch; deciding to instead pace around the cell because it was more distracting than Tommy’s words. 

Calm. 

And when Dream was alone…

Locked behind closed doors…

Well. 

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing, over and over again, and expecting a different result. 

And part of him supposed that he was smart enough to know that insanity was a chain that needed to be broken and when he was alone, he couldn’t help but feel the urge to do anything that wasn’t walking and pacing and eating and writing. 

And so he screamed. 

He glared at the walls and pounded against them, thrusting his fists into the hard obsidian until his knuckles bruised and blood pooled at the abused floor below him, as if that'd solve anything but remind him he was alive and not losing his mind. 

He’d slump against the wall, his voice hoarse and out of breath as he scratched violently at his arms and stared ahead of him at the slowly pooling waterfall of lava as he listened in for anyone approaching. 

Because, no, he would not fucking let anyone see him in this state. 

Sitting against a wall, exhausted as blood prickled from his skin, and stained the underside of his nails. 

He wouldn’t let anyone know that he’d attempt to hold his breath until he passed out or scratch at his eyes under his mask until he broke skin because sleep just wouldn’t fucking come to him and he needed to escape a reality that wasn’t 5 feet of obsidian. 

And he’d do that for hours until he felt sated.

But it didn’t matter how much it hurt because, after his tantrum, he’d scoff and get up as if it had never happened because, fuck you insanity. 

He broke the chain.

Which meant he was perfectly sane. 

And then Tommy-

Fucking Tommy got stuck in the prison with him. 

Which turned out to be more of a problem than Dream intended nor could ever assume. 

Not because he was loud or obnoxious or burned Dream’s stuff or even because he killed his cat. 

All of that was nothing compared to the itchy feeling growing under his skin by the passing hour and Dream knew one thing was growing apparently clear. 

If Tommy was there then he couldn’t break that cycle of insanity. 

He’d continued doing the same thing over and over and because of his pride, he wouldn’t dare let Tommy see him fall apart and attempt to rip himself to shreds. 

Which, to be honest, as much as he hated having Tommy there, his constant grating voice was a nice distraction from the aggravating feeling toying just below the surface. 

It didn’t distract him forever though. 

At some point, he knew he wouldn’t be able to push the feeling down for much longer. 

And soon enough, he snapped. 

Something in him broke the moment he hit Tommy;  _ really  _ hit him. 

He had smiled then, lifting his fist again and then within moments that little feeling in his chest reared its ugly head and Dream hit Tommy again, and again, and again. He could feel his knuckles already begin growing sore, but it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling. 

At one point his fist had grown too tired and so he switched fists, Tommy writhing and hitting back, but it didn’t do much because to Dream’s eyes, he was no longer hitting Tommy. He was back in his cell, alone, punching the obsidian wall and gouging his own eyes out. 

At another point, Dream was on top of Tommy, lingering just above him as he gripped the front of the boy’s shirt with one bloody hand and punched with the other. His fist dove down in a guided line, connecting with thick skin and cries, and was brought back up; bringing spurts of sticky red blood up with it. 

And each hit sparked something within him and only prompted the next punch to shoot down much faster and more erratic. 

Dream laughed, bringing his fist back as he watched blood drip from it. He stepped back, catching his breath; the small itch in the back of his mind scratched, for now. And he felt a relief that made him tired in the way where he knew sleep would be peaceful. 

He licked his lips, tasting the tangy irony feeling of blood, and scoffed, shaking his head before his eyes darted to the motionless lump on the ground. 

Dream paused when he noticed it. 

The slack of blue eyes. 

“Heh,” He managed out, his smile growing as he let his shoulders slump and brought a sleeve up to wipe at his mouth as he stared down at the horror show in front of him. "HA."

He lowered his arm, grinning wide as he burst out into hysterical laughter, something manic tearing apart his calm composure. 

He laughed.

And laughed. 

And laughed. 

They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. 

But how far did this level of sanity go? 

Did it seep into the nights where he swore to god he could hear voices teasing him in the back of his mind? 

Did it matter when he cackled for hours straight because the sight of some bloody corpse was just too funny to him for some reason?

Was it still relevant if anything was the same? 

Was sleeping every night considered insanity?

It was a repeated action. 

Dream frowned, glaring at the corpse. 

Was breathing insanity? 

He thought back to him punching his cage and clawing at his eyes and screaming; god, fucking screaming and he thought over how many times he had done that. 

And then he thought about Tommy. 

And hitting and punching and screaming. 

And oh, god. 

It was the same. 

It was all the same. 

Dream growled, shaking the thought and turning away from the gruesome body as he brought his hands up to grip at his hair; tugging and pulling until finally, dirty fingers gripped at the back of his mask and scratched and clawed until he managed to break through the elastic keeping it together and the mask dropped to the obsidian ground before shattering. 

“FUCK!” 

Fuck, fuck, fuck, it was all the same. Everything was the same and there was no way to escape it. No matter what he did, no matter who he was with, the only thing he could do was the same as he had done yesterday and it would never stop. It would never stop. Not until he died or escaped. 

“Did you know about this?!” Dream screamed, turning back to Tommy; anger in his bright green eyes.

He received no answer. 

Because there was no way he could receive one. 

“Answer me!” He hissed, his vocal cords choking over themselves as his voice gave out and he tapped forwards, shoes staining red. “ANSWER ME!” He tried again, leaning down and grabbing the front of the body’s tainted, red, dirty shirt as he shook it. “ANSWER ME! ANSWER ME! ANSWER ME!” 

No response. 

“ANSWER ME YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!” 

No response. 

The definition of insanity was doing the same thing, over and over again, and expecting a different result. 

Dream glared at the beaten and bruised face in front of him, readjusting his grip on his shirt as he coughed and cleared his throat; his green eyes, beaming at dull, grey ones. “Answer me.” He gritted out, so quiet only him and Tommy could hear. 

The thing about Dream was that he was perfectly, utterly insane. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> It'd be so cool if you followed me on Instagram, @Tuckers_bitcc. 
> 
> I make edits there <3


End file.
